The Promise
by Rockabella Suzy
Summary: John has always had a bad history with his sister Harriet. When she comes to him for help, he's not quite sure if he's ready to bury the hatchet.
_**Author's Note: Not sure if this should be a oneshot or not. It's just an idea I had.**_

"You're married?"

The hurt in Harriet's voice was as plain as day. John knew as soon as Mary came to the door that it would slip out.

"Didn't you know? We sent you the invite," replied Mary glancing at John, and then more firmly said, "She did get the invite didn't she?"

John cleared his throat and looked to his shoes.

"Oh my god, John, I could kill you!" Mary clipped him on the back of the head, "You said she couldn't make it! I'm so sorry, Harriet. You were supposed to get an invite, I don't know what -"

"Mary!" John piped, "Could you give me a moment with my sister please?"

Mary glared at him with that cold hard stare that meant this wasn't over.

"At least invite her in," she said, "I'll be in the study if you need me." She gave Harriet a terse smile before disappearing inside the house.

John hesitated a moment. Part of him wanted to slam the door in Harriet's face. After everything she put him through she had the audacity to come here and ask for help. If not for Mary he probably would have.

"Come in," he said resignedly, holding the door wider for her. She gave a nod and stepped inside. John led her to the living room and offered her a seat.

"Would you like tea or something?" he asked, more out of formality than any desire to accommodate her.

"No. No thank you," she replied. She removed her coat as she sat on the sofa. She looked different. He wasn't used to seeing her dark blonde hair femininely styled in loose curls. It was usually unkempt and lazily pulled back in a ponytail. Her skin was clearer, no longer ruddy and flushed from alcohol abuse, and she had lost a lot of weight.

"You look good," he said, sitting in the armchair opposite.

"I've been taking care of myself," she replied.

"Good. Good." John drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair. He had no other words. An agonising silence hung between them.

"Why didn't you invite me to your wedding?" she said meekly.

John took a deep breath. He didn't want to start a fight. He didn't want to raise his voice. But that was always how attempts at reconnecting with Harriet went: the shouting, the screaming, the blaming and accusing. He needed to choose his words carefully.

"Would you have come?" He said.

"Of course I would!" Harriet gasped as if appalled he would think otherwise, "I know we've had our differences but I wouldn't miss my own brother's wedding for heaven's sake."

"Would you have been sober?" he quipped, unable to look at her.

"Yes!" she insisted though the wobble in her voice gave away her uncertainty.

"How many times have you given up the drink now?"

"That's not fair, John. There were reasons why I relapsed before but I would have been sober for your wedding day. For you."

John shook his head.

"You leave nasty comments on my blog, comments I assume you make while drunk. Whether you mean them or not is besides the point, I couldn't risk you getting drunk and abusive on my wedding day."

Another silence. Harriet shifted uncomfortably where she sat, fiddling with her sleeves, a nervous habit she never grew out of.

"I did mean them, John," she said quietly, her eyes down, "Every last one."

He had said that he never let the comments get to him and for the most part that was true. The anonymous trolls didn't bother him much. But Harriet knew how to hurt him. She knew how to hit him at a personal level. Anger bubbled within him then but he swallowed it down before it could erupt. He took a deep breath and said, "Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm sorry," she replied sincerely, "I need to express how I feel. Because when I don't I drink."

John stared at the wallpaper, blinking hard against threatening tears.

"Isn't that what your therapist is for?" he pushed through the lump in his throat.

"I've tried various outlets," she sighed, "The only way I can resolve my issues with you is if we talk. I don't want to be here but my therapist says it would really help with my recovery. And I want to recover, John. I want to get better."

No. No. He was not ready for this. He would shout. He would scream. He would throw her out. His emotions were teetering on the edge just looking at her. Harriet was a black hole of misery and she sucked in everyone around her. He would blow up in her face and she would just relapse all over again.

"OK," he said with some reluctance, "Let's...talk about our feelings."

"Well first I want to apologise-"

John exhaled derisively. Harriet stilled, glaring at him with an expression that said 'don't start'.

"I want to apologise for the things I've said," Harriet continued, "While they came from a very real place, you didn't deserve it and I'm sorry."

"You want to apologise for the money you stole from me too?" John retorted, "Or for every bottle you threw at my face?"

"Oh here we go." Harriet threw her arms in the air. "This is so typical of you, John. I'm here pouring my heart out and you're once again trying to start a fight."

"No," John snapped, leaning forward on the edge of his seat, "You don't just get to waltz in here and say you're sorry and expect everything to be fixed. That's not how it works."

"Well then let's make it work!" Harriet pleaded, "I want this to work but I can't do it without you. I can't do it if you don't help me. And this...whatever you're doing right now, it's not helping."

John sighed and sat back again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Jesus, Harry," he said, "I don't... I don't even know where to start with you."

Harriet paused and fidgeted with her sleeves anxiously.

"You remind me of Dad, OK?" she confessed.

John rose to his feet suddenly. "I am nothing like Dad!"

Harriet gazed up at him with sorrowful brown eyes.

"You're more like him than you think," she whispered, "The way you talk, the way you carry yourself... Even all those little facial expressions you make are all Dad's. So when I see you, I see him. I'm not justifying how I treated you, I'm just explaining myself."

"Uh-uh, nope! No." John started to pace the floor, his chest swelling with emotion. "There were only ever two people in the world that threw a bottle at my face and they were you and Dad. You want to talk family resemblance? You look just like him when you're drunk. And between the two of you I was always at the receiving end of the abuse."

Harriet stood then looking him dead in the eye.

"He loved you," she said.

"Loved me!?" John erupted, "Do you call being screamed at for getting a C in math 'love'? Do you call shipping me off to military training against my will 'love'? You never felt any of the pressure he put on me! He bloody hated me! I was nothing but a constant disappointment to him!"

Harriet's eyes were now glassy and it looked as though she was making an effort to fight the tears.

"I was named Harry before I was born," she said, her voice unsteady, "Because they thought I was going to be a boy. But when I was born, it had to be changed to Harriet. I remember my early years mostly with Mum. She said that Dad had to work a lot which was why I didn't see him much. And then you came along. And suddenly Dad was always there. But only for you. Because he wanted a boy." She dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. "So the 'abuse' you got from Dad was because he wanted the best for you. He wanted you to be the best man you could be. But me? He didn't give a toss about me. No matter what I did or what I achieved he didn't care. I tried to be the boy he wanted me to be. I dressed like a boy, cut my hair like a boy, I played sport and did woodwork in school... He didn't care."

"Right, right. So you always just projected your resentment for Dad onto me. That's great, Harry, very enlightening," John said sarcastically, "But hey, for all my hatred of the guy, I never took it out on you. Not once."

"No, you just did exactly what Dad did. You didn't have to shut me out, John."

"Well you didn't have to start bloody drinking did you!" John cried, louder than he had intended. There it was. The floodgates were opened. There was no going back now.

"I was medically depressed, John! You're a doctor, how did you not see it?"

"Maybe because you were never there! When I was home working my ass off to appease his majesty you were out partying!"

"And what you have had me do? Help you impress Dad while he continued to ignore me? When Mum died I had no one-"

"When Mum died both you and Dad hit the drink. I knew Dad was a lost cause but you didn't have to self destruct. You're my big sister and I needed you. You were all I had left and I'll never forgive you for what you did!"

John heard his own words in his ears and instantly regretted them. Harriet's face screwed up, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Never?" she breathed.

"Oh, Harry I didn't mean-"

"I needed you too, John. And I should have been there but I was too jealous and angry. And when I see you now - married, successful, happy - it makes me jealous and angry because I feel if Dad treated me the way he treated you I could have had what you have now. Every time we tried to reconnect I was just reminded of that. And that's why I said what I said and did what I did. And I'm sorry."

John sniffed and stared at the wallpaper again, the pattern becoming blurry through his tears. He didn't know what to say. He never considered that all his attempts at helping with her addiction was just making her worse. He never considered where her addiction came from, he just thought it was always there, and would always be a part of her until it killed her like it did with their father.

"John," she squeaked through a sob, "I'm broke. I'm homeless. I have nowhere else to go. If I don't get help I don't know what I'll do. You're all I have." She broke down then and John unthinkingly wrapped his arms around her. He hadn't been this close to her since they were children but it felt surprisingly natural.

"OK," he soothed, "It's OK, I got you."

She bawled into his sweater as if his kindness tipped her over the edge.

"We're still not OK, Harry, not by a long shot." She withdrew and gazed up at him, black trails of eyeliner running down her cheeks. "We have a lot of work to do," John continued, "But I promise I'll try harder this time. Can you promise me too?"

"Yes," she said with an affirming nod, "I promise. I won't let you down. I want to get better. I want to be your sister again."

John let her go and presented his pinky finger to her. A laugh burst from her just then and John knew she was remembering the same childhood memory with him. She locked her little finger around his.

"Pinky linky dinky promise," she said.

"Pinky linky dinky promise," he replied.


End file.
